


Seagulls Screaming (kiss him, kiss him)

by Allthephils



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: 2009, Alternate meeting for dnp, Isle of Man, M/M, Shifting perspectives, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:55:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24127771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allthephils/pseuds/Allthephils
Summary: Dan goes to the coast with his family and shares a fleeting moment with a boy on a cliff. It’s brief but it’s clear, this is only the beginning.In another world, this is their origin story.
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Comments: 22
Kudos: 65





	Seagulls Screaming (kiss him, kiss him)

**Author's Note:**

> I walked on a beach today and the seagulls were so loud, I couldn’t hear the waves. They reminded me of a song I love by XTC, Seagulls Screaming Kiss her Kiss her. I listened to the song on my drive home and I’m a fic writer, I guess, so this happened. It’s a bit of a fantasy but I love what a little vulnerability can do.
> 
> If you like 80s post-punk (though this is the lighter side of post-punk), [you can hear the song here.](https://youtu.be/SilKZK47XTc) I can’t take credit for the imagery, it’s all from the song.

The water is gentle, waves rolling rather than crashing. There is no sun to be seen, only dull grey clouds, constantly threatening to open up and ruin everyone’s day but never following through. The only drama here is trying to get through your idyllic picnic lunch before a seagull dive bombs your blanket and flies off with your ciabatta. Dan wraps his bare arms around himself, knees and all. He’s freezing cold but putting a coat on at the beach feels like admitting defeat.

It might help if he were sitting on the blanket his mother brought but there’s really no room. Dan’s mother has her legs stretched out in front of here, a towel thrown over for warmth. She leans on a chair that’s not a chair but just a backrest and reads a book. His brother is laid out on his back, taking up half the space, eyes closed. He might be sleeping. Dan is just glad he shut up about how beautiful it all is. It is beautiful but Dan can’t listen to one more pseudo poetic word as to why.

At least his father isn’t here. Though he’s not sure why he was guilted into coming if his dad got to stay home and nap in the recliner all day. Dan sighs. He was really hoping for some sunshine and rising tide, something to run from just before his feet got wet. He’d have feigned apathy, of course, but he would have loved it. 

Dan stands and brushes the layer of sand that has caked to the butt of his jeans. They’re a little damp and that feels like a perfect metaphor for the day he’s having. 

“I’m gonna take a walk.”

“Not without your coat, you’re not.” His mum reaches for Dan’s coat and holds it out to him.

He puts on a show of angst with a heavy sigh as he snatches the coat. Secretly, he’s glad she gives a damn. 

***

The sun was out when Phil decided to go down to the beach. Sometimes he likes to walk alone. As much as he loves his family, everyone needs a break now and then. And when the sun is out, there’s bound to be at least a couple good looking guys running in the sand. It’s probably too cold to hope for shirtless but he might get a vest or two, or a sweat soaked t-shirt. Phil loves a sweat soaked t-shirt.

He has never claimed to be strong in the face of his mother’s cooking and today is no exception. The sweet smell of baked goods lures him into the kitchen, his father’s commentary on Martyn’s new girlfriend keeps him there. Two cups of tea and several cakes later, it seems the sun has left the party. When he steps outside, the cold is biting so he turns right around and goes to change into a flannel shirt and grab a jacket. Since the odds of seeing hot beachcombers has drastically reduced with this turn in the weather, he heads for the cliffs.

There’s a spot off the beaten path that Phil loves. It’s quite a climb from the beach so it’s usually free of people. He knows a trail that comes off the main road and ends right there. A fallen tree sits a few feet from the edge, a perfect place to sit and take in the view. He never lasts long, just sitting still and watching, but he enjoys it for as long as his brain will allow. When he gets to the spot, someone is there, sitting on his log. He’ll sit on the other end, maybe they’ll leave.

***

The air is damp and heavy, clouds hanging low like he could reach up and take a wet tuft, wringing it out in his hands. Birds circle overhead. They’d cast a shadow if it weren’t already so dreary. Dan should probably learn to like this weather if he’s going to keep cultivating the dark and edgy persona he’s been working on.

His eyes are on the sand below. It’s covered in seashells and sharp rocks. It’s not the sort of beach you walk barefoot on. It’s not the sort where you might lay down and feel the sun on your face while the tide licks at your feet. Not that Dan would do any of that with his family watching but there’s a story that plays in his head, one where he watches someone running from the water. They fall into the sand next to him. They’re laughing as they look down at him, eyes blue as the sky. He imagines they’d press their lips to his forehead. He never sees their face, just a smile and those eyes. On really good days, he lets himself envision a stubbled jaw, a big hand on his shoulder, a broad flat chest.

Someone sits down on the other end of the log Dan is sat on. He feels his end bounce up a bit. Hopefully they don't stay long. He climbed a lot of rocks to get up here and there’s no way he’s moving. He allows himself a glance. He’s young, maybe just a little older than Dan and he’s wearing skinny black jeans. He’s not sure why that’s a comfort but it is. One other thing stands out, his hair. It’s long and shaggy. It’s the kind of hair that hangs in your eyes and you have to brush it away. It’s sexy and cool. Dan could never pull off hair like that. 

He meant to look away but this particular profile is striking and his eyes linger until he’s caught. The guy looks over. He looks over and tosses his head a bit to move the fringe from his eyes, just as Dan had imagined. He smiles a little then looks up at the growing flock of seagulls flying over the rocks. 

***

Whoever this is, he’s very pretty. He’s no hot shirtless runner, but Phil thinks he might like this better. He’s soft, he looks like he’d have good taste in music, like he’d be funny. In all the years Phil’s family has been coming here, he’s never made a friend his own age. He’s not sure that’s going to happen today but he can hope. 

He didn’t smile back though he was staring a bit. He’s probably trying to send a message, get the hell off my log. But it’s not his log, it’s Phil’s log. Or maybe he’s just awkward like Phil, feeling all the same insecurities, the same defensiveness. Phil takes a breath of courage. 

“There’s a lot of birds.”

“Sorry?”

Phil scoots a little closer so they can hear one another. “The seagulls,” he says, pointing up, “there’s a lot.” 

He nods and Phil sees his chest rise, eyes straight forward. Moments pass, the birds crying out, one by one, an avian conversation right above their heads, louder and louder. 

“They stole my bread,” he says, “fucking flying rats.”

Laughter bubbles out of Phil and he’s finally rewarded with some eye contact. He lets himself settle into an easy smile and the guy smiles back. 

“My hair’s usually straight,” he says out of nowhere.

“Oh?” Phil says, “I like the curls. It suits you.”

Another smile and he looks away. Phil misses his dimples already. 

The clouds keep rolling in. The sky is gunmetal, the sea warship grey. It’s hard to tell where one ends and the other begins. The horizon is just an idea. There’s nothing to see here, nothing but a boy with curly hair and a black coat.

“I like your coat,” Phil says, just to say something, but the seagulls are screaming now. They drown him out.

Looking up and shaking his head, he leans toward Phil, just a little, and puts a hand to his ear. 

Phil repeats, “I like your coat. You look like a dementor.” 

It looks like he laughs a little but Phil can’t hear. 

He moves a little closer and says, “Thank you.” It’s so sweet and sincere, it tugs at Phil’s heart, tries to coax it up, into flight where it can call down to him. Their hands, on the log, are so close to touching. Phil could inch over and take it, hold it in his. It would be like a movie. He knows he won’t, he can’t, but the seagulls are persistent. They’re calling out.

_He who hesitates is lost, if you want him, you should tell him._

But he doesn’t even know him. 

He feels a drop of rain and bumps his foot against his, the seagulls screaming, _kiss him, kiss him_.

Phil turns his head and leans in. Brown eyes close and Phil goes with it. It’s just lips and then a hand slips behind his neck and Phil lets his arms wrap around him. They press against one another for one moment, and then another, and then it's over.

They pull apart but their embrace doesn’t budge. Like lovers saying goodbye, they hold on.

“No one knows I’m gay,” he says. 

“Oh.” 

“What’s your name?” The twist in his mouth says he’s embarrassed but not ashamed.

“Phil.”

“Dan.”

“Hi Dan.”

And Dan’s lips are back on his, fitting themselves just so. Their tongues reach briefly, just a touch. The birds fly higher, their cries softening some.

“It’s raining,” Phil says, stating the obvious. Dan looks up.

“It is.”

“There’s a cave,” Phil says, trying to hold on to whatever this is. “I can show you.”

Dan’s face falls a bit and he pulls back a little more.

“This rain, my family’s probably packing up.”

“Okay, can I see you tomorrow?” Phil asks, doing his best to sound less desperate than he feels, “where are you staying?”

Dan shakes his head. “We’re driving back tonight,” he says and the seagulls get louder. “My mum does this, she gets wanderlust and we’re all just kinda dragged behind her.”

Phil looks at the ground.

“Can I see your phone?” Dan says. It's proper raining now so they stand and move under a tree. It doesn’t provide much shelter but it’s something. 

When he hands the phone back, Phil reads the contact. Dan Howell. 

“Dan Howell,” He says and he can’t fight his grin. 

“I have to go.”

Phil puts a hand on Dan’s cheek, his thumb brushing over the space where his dimple would be. He leans into the touch and it is like a movie. Even in the rain, he hears the seagulls still, _kiss him._

Phil cradles Dan’s head and gently guides, tilting him and pulling him in. Their lips meet softly, moving over each other like they’ve kissed a hundred times before. Phil sets the pace, slow and deep, pouring every secret thing into it just in case this is the last kiss he gets from this boy. And just in case it's not, Dan needs to remember this.

Pulling back, he takes Dan’s hands and watches his face come back to the present, his eyes taking seconds to flutter open. There’s a rosy patch where Phils thumb had been, just there on Dan’s cheek, a blush keeping things warm until his dimple returns. 

He whispers goodbye and climbs carefully down the rocks, back to the sand that will lead him back home. But Phil has his number in his phone and the taste of his lips still on his tongue. He smiles to himself and walks back, soaking wet. The seagulls follow overhead and their quiet calls sound like nothing at all.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi at [@allthephils](http://allthephils.tumblr.com)
> 
> If you like the fic, please reblog it on Tumblr. You can do that[here](http://allthephils.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Thank you!


End file.
